Do you think the Goblin King really did it?” asked Cordelia hesitantly. All the sheep knew she was talking about George’s death. Mopple quickly pulled up a tuft of grass.”Or Satan?” added Lane.”Nonsense,” Rameses snorted...

Maple thought optimistically that human beings, on their good days, weren’t much dimmer than sheep. Or at least, not much dimmer than dim sheep.

Cordelia was thinking how human beings can invent words, how they can line up their invented words side by side on paper. It was magic.

No, little one, George’s ghost won’t come back. Human beings don’t have souls. No soul, no ghost. Simple.””How can you say that?” protested Mopple. “We don’t know whether humans have souls or not.””Every lamb knows...

Cordelia loved his explanations. She loved knowing words that belonged to things she’d never seen, even to things you couldn’t see at all. She remembered those words carefully. “Magic,” George had said, “is something unnatural,...

No sheep may leave the flock,” he said to anyone who would listen, “unless he comes back again.